It was one of those beautiful spring days. The trees were filled with baby leaves enough to fill the void of winter with bright green evidence of new life. Flowers were blooming. The air was warm, not hot or cold, just perfect sweater weather. And we were going for a walk. The entire student body and faculty of Grant Elementary School in Macomb, Illinois were walking the 6 or so blocks to the football stadium of Western Illinois University to watch the Special Olympics!
There was excitement in the air as the children and teachers settled in their seats and participants milled around on the track and field below. I looked across the field and saw some of the participants warming up for shot put and javelin throwing. Others were stretching in preparation for high jumping or running. They were of every size and description. Some looked strong and healthy. Many were Downs Syndrome children, some were in wheelchairs, others were in leg braces. I watched as one child in a wheelchair, both legs gone, was lifted onto the hard surface of the track just to be free from the chair for a short time.
Directly below our seats a group of young people were preparing to run the 100 yard dash. They lined up across the track in perfect starting position, the gun went off, and off they ran as fast as they could go. All accept for one little Downs Syndrome girl. She barely got started before she tripped and fell in a heap to the hard surface of the track. It seemed the entire audience gasped in unison as she fell to the ground. All eyes were on the girl. No one even paid attention to who was winning the race. The attention was on her.
She cried over and over again, "I can't do it! I can't run the race!" Suddenly her coach, a young college girl, came running from the side lines shouting, "Get up and run! You can do it! Don't give up! Run the race!"
"I can't!" the little girl cried again. Then something happened that I shall never forget. The little girl's coach took her by the hand, helped her to her feet, brushed her off, and said, "Come on. We'll run the race together."
The crowd went wild, cheering her on as she headed for the finish line! The runners who had already finished the race cheered her on from the finish line! At that moment it didn't matter who had run the fastest and finished first. It only mattered that this little girl finish the race she had begun.
Philippians 3:13b-14 says, "But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." There is so much in life to trip us up, make us fall, cause us to think we are of little use to anyone anymore, make us believe we can't finish the race. Then our precious coach, Jesus Christ, through the Holy Spirit, comes running to us, takes us by the hand, and says, "Come on. We'll run the race together. I will never leave you or forsake you. You will make it to the finish line where there is a prize awaiting you."
You don't have to be the strongest runner, or the fastest. You don't have to finish first. You just have to run the race with your little hand in His big hand until you reach the finish line. There He will declare, "Well done, my good and faithful servant!"
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Things Are Different Now
The past few weeks have been quite stressful with my husband in the hospital twice and other family stresses. I really needed a vacation day. It seemed my own house would be the best place to take my little one day vacation, and so I did.
I began the day sitting in my overstuffed chair, feet up and Lily napping on my lap, my Bible open to the verses Ken had preached from on Sunday. I was happy to receive some new insights as I read, nothing really earth shaking, but good.
I decided some music would be good while I looked at e-mail and balanced my checkbook. (Not exactly a vacation thing to do.) At first I thought Christmas music would be nice. There was no one around to say it's too early for Christmas music. But, as I reached for a Christmas CD, the title on the spine of another CD caught my eye, "The Love Concert." Perfect! Nostalgia, inspiration, and fun all wrapped up in one little package. You see, this is a recording of the Rock Island First Church of the Nazarene youth choir, with my good friend, Fred Kelley, my sister, Ruth, and me singing about the love of God. The concert was the teen missionary project for 1972 to raise money for renovations at a home in California for retired missionaries.
First I heard Rev. Don Tyler welcoming the crowd. I remember it being a packed house. Then he called on my dad, Rev. Joe Hirst, to pray. I listened to my dad's voice as he talked to God, invoking His blessing on the evening's activities. He has been in heaven since 1976. It was so good to hear his voice! Then the music began.
The youth choir started the program with a good old Gaither tune. I thought about some of those young people who I loved dearly. They were in their early to middle teen years then. Now they are all in their late 40's or early 50's! Unbelievable!
I heard a young woman's voice saying something about God's love, then a piano introduction, and a clear, strong female voice began to sing, "If That Isn't Love." I recognized the voice immediately! It was me! And, may I just take the liberty of saying, it was beautiful.
Without warning, and with no self control, I began to sob. I didn't mean to, and I didn't want to, but I could not stop myself. It came from someplace so deep within me I had no idea that place even existed. "God!" I cried, "I can't do that any more! This disease I have is robbing me of my abilities to do some of those things I love to do! I hate this disease! Please let me do some of these things again!" Even now a lump comes in my throat and tears threaten to spill over as I remember yesterday. Many yesterdays! Yesterdays when Fred and I sang together before he and Phylis went home to be with the Lord. Yesterdays when Ruth's beautiful soprano voice wasn't affected by Lyme's Disease, nor was my voice experiencing the tightening of my throat muscles from Parkinson's medication.
Things are different now. I was 27 then. Now I'm 64. I didn't even know what Parkinson's Disease was then. Now I live with it daily. All my close friends were living and we were having wonderful Christian fellowship and ministry together. Now many of them are walking the streets of gold waiting for the arrival of those of us left behind. My investment in heaven is becoming greater as time goes by.
There is something to be said for looking back. However, Paul reminds us in Philippians 3:12-14, that we need to forget what is behind and press on toward the goal to win the prize God has waiting for us. We'll talk about that next time.
I began the day sitting in my overstuffed chair, feet up and Lily napping on my lap, my Bible open to the verses Ken had preached from on Sunday. I was happy to receive some new insights as I read, nothing really earth shaking, but good.
I decided some music would be good while I looked at e-mail and balanced my checkbook. (Not exactly a vacation thing to do.) At first I thought Christmas music would be nice. There was no one around to say it's too early for Christmas music. But, as I reached for a Christmas CD, the title on the spine of another CD caught my eye, "The Love Concert." Perfect! Nostalgia, inspiration, and fun all wrapped up in one little package. You see, this is a recording of the Rock Island First Church of the Nazarene youth choir, with my good friend, Fred Kelley, my sister, Ruth, and me singing about the love of God. The concert was the teen missionary project for 1972 to raise money for renovations at a home in California for retired missionaries.
First I heard Rev. Don Tyler welcoming the crowd. I remember it being a packed house. Then he called on my dad, Rev. Joe Hirst, to pray. I listened to my dad's voice as he talked to God, invoking His blessing on the evening's activities. He has been in heaven since 1976. It was so good to hear his voice! Then the music began.
The youth choir started the program with a good old Gaither tune. I thought about some of those young people who I loved dearly. They were in their early to middle teen years then. Now they are all in their late 40's or early 50's! Unbelievable!
I heard a young woman's voice saying something about God's love, then a piano introduction, and a clear, strong female voice began to sing, "If That Isn't Love." I recognized the voice immediately! It was me! And, may I just take the liberty of saying, it was beautiful.
Without warning, and with no self control, I began to sob. I didn't mean to, and I didn't want to, but I could not stop myself. It came from someplace so deep within me I had no idea that place even existed. "God!" I cried, "I can't do that any more! This disease I have is robbing me of my abilities to do some of those things I love to do! I hate this disease! Please let me do some of these things again!" Even now a lump comes in my throat and tears threaten to spill over as I remember yesterday. Many yesterdays! Yesterdays when Fred and I sang together before he and Phylis went home to be with the Lord. Yesterdays when Ruth's beautiful soprano voice wasn't affected by Lyme's Disease, nor was my voice experiencing the tightening of my throat muscles from Parkinson's medication.
Things are different now. I was 27 then. Now I'm 64. I didn't even know what Parkinson's Disease was then. Now I live with it daily. All my close friends were living and we were having wonderful Christian fellowship and ministry together. Now many of them are walking the streets of gold waiting for the arrival of those of us left behind. My investment in heaven is becoming greater as time goes by.
There is something to be said for looking back. However, Paul reminds us in Philippians 3:12-14, that we need to forget what is behind and press on toward the goal to win the prize God has waiting for us. We'll talk about that next time.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
No Parking Zone
Several years ago now I had the privilege of meeting and interviewing a lovely lady named Martha Blackburn. At the time, she was Women's Ministry Director for the Wesleyan Church headquartered in Indianapolis, Indiana.
Martha had been married to a Wesleyan pastor. She and her husband and one son lived and ministered in Indianapolis for many years. Her husband had been afflicted with some type of kidney disease that ultimately took his life while in his early forties, and Martha's life changed completely overnight.
Not only did she lose her husband, but she lost her identity as a pastor's wife. She had worked as a secretary in the church office and felt she must give up that position in order to eliminate any awkwardness for the new pastor coming to replace her husband. So, she lost her job. Her son had just graduated high school. All the arrangements for him to go off to college had been made. Now, instead of three in the house there was one, Martha, alone and broken hearted.
Martha felt she needed to keep her life as normal as possible. That included church attendance. There was no other church she would rather attend than the one she had been involved in for so long, but some Sundays she could not get herself to get up and go. Other Sundays she would go to church only to be reminded of all her losses. On those Sundays she found herself leaving before the service was over, usually in tears.
As time went on, Martha began to realize that she was going down a path of self pity. It was easier to remember all she had lost rather than focus on what God might have in store for her in the future. She began praying, "God, I don't want to park beside my grief." Martha was ready and willing to allow God to heal her broken heart and give her a future filled with blessings she could not yet imagine.
There is an invalid man mentioned in scripture (John 5:1-15) who had parked beside his grief for a very long time, thirty-eight years, to be exact. His parking place was by a pool called Bethesda. It was said that at certain times the water in the pool would be stirred, and the first to enter the water would be healed. Many disabled people came here for healing. After thirty-eight years this man's parking place had become his comfort zone. As long as he stayed by the pool, he appeared to be trying to get better, at the very least. He never was able to get into the water in time to be healed. Of course, it wasn't his fault, so he said, because there was no one to help him get in. So, he parked beside his disability for all those years. Then one day Jesus came along and asked him very pointedly if he wanted to get well. He never really said yes to the question, but Jesus healed him anyway and made that place a no parking zone.
I think sometimes we are much like the man at the pool. We say we want to be healed, but we just lay by the pool nursing our wounds and blaming our circumstances on others. Our afflictions are many; heartbreak, hurt feelings, diseases, disabilities, losses. We have become comfortable with our parking place. It has become our comfort zone. Others have low expectations for us because of where we're parked. We have low expectations for ourselves, as well. We thrive on the pity we receive from others and from ourselves. We hear Jesus asking if we want to get well. We know He is the great healer. But we've become comfortable by the pool. Maybe it's best to just stay there.
Martha found that allowing God to make her grief a no parking zone opened up a whole new world for possibilities for her. She got a new job with a new identity, Director of Women's Ministry for the Wesleyan denomination. God sent a wonderful, godly man into her life whom she fell in love with and married. Her life was exciting and full and blessed!
Jesus may be asking you if you really want to be well. Tell Him you don't want to park where you are. Allow Him to begin the healing process by posting a no parking zone sign in that area of your life. Has someone hurt you? Forgive them and go on! NO PARKING! Have you been rejected and devalued? Your value and worth come from God! NO PARKING! Are you in poor health or disabled and feeling useless? He will teach you how to feel better. He has something you can do in service to Him despite physical circumstances. NO PARKING! Have you backed up on your commitment to God? Repent and go forward with Him. NO PARKING!
God, do not allow us to park in what should be NO PARKING ZONES!
Martha had been married to a Wesleyan pastor. She and her husband and one son lived and ministered in Indianapolis for many years. Her husband had been afflicted with some type of kidney disease that ultimately took his life while in his early forties, and Martha's life changed completely overnight.
Not only did she lose her husband, but she lost her identity as a pastor's wife. She had worked as a secretary in the church office and felt she must give up that position in order to eliminate any awkwardness for the new pastor coming to replace her husband. So, she lost her job. Her son had just graduated high school. All the arrangements for him to go off to college had been made. Now, instead of three in the house there was one, Martha, alone and broken hearted.
Martha felt she needed to keep her life as normal as possible. That included church attendance. There was no other church she would rather attend than the one she had been involved in for so long, but some Sundays she could not get herself to get up and go. Other Sundays she would go to church only to be reminded of all her losses. On those Sundays she found herself leaving before the service was over, usually in tears.
As time went on, Martha began to realize that she was going down a path of self pity. It was easier to remember all she had lost rather than focus on what God might have in store for her in the future. She began praying, "God, I don't want to park beside my grief." Martha was ready and willing to allow God to heal her broken heart and give her a future filled with blessings she could not yet imagine.
There is an invalid man mentioned in scripture (John 5:1-15) who had parked beside his grief for a very long time, thirty-eight years, to be exact. His parking place was by a pool called Bethesda. It was said that at certain times the water in the pool would be stirred, and the first to enter the water would be healed. Many disabled people came here for healing. After thirty-eight years this man's parking place had become his comfort zone. As long as he stayed by the pool, he appeared to be trying to get better, at the very least. He never was able to get into the water in time to be healed. Of course, it wasn't his fault, so he said, because there was no one to help him get in. So, he parked beside his disability for all those years. Then one day Jesus came along and asked him very pointedly if he wanted to get well. He never really said yes to the question, but Jesus healed him anyway and made that place a no parking zone.
I think sometimes we are much like the man at the pool. We say we want to be healed, but we just lay by the pool nursing our wounds and blaming our circumstances on others. Our afflictions are many; heartbreak, hurt feelings, diseases, disabilities, losses. We have become comfortable with our parking place. It has become our comfort zone. Others have low expectations for us because of where we're parked. We have low expectations for ourselves, as well. We thrive on the pity we receive from others and from ourselves. We hear Jesus asking if we want to get well. We know He is the great healer. But we've become comfortable by the pool. Maybe it's best to just stay there.
Martha found that allowing God to make her grief a no parking zone opened up a whole new world for possibilities for her. She got a new job with a new identity, Director of Women's Ministry for the Wesleyan denomination. God sent a wonderful, godly man into her life whom she fell in love with and married. Her life was exciting and full and blessed!
Jesus may be asking you if you really want to be well. Tell Him you don't want to park where you are. Allow Him to begin the healing process by posting a no parking zone sign in that area of your life. Has someone hurt you? Forgive them and go on! NO PARKING! Have you been rejected and devalued? Your value and worth come from God! NO PARKING! Are you in poor health or disabled and feeling useless? He will teach you how to feel better. He has something you can do in service to Him despite physical circumstances. NO PARKING! Have you backed up on your commitment to God? Repent and go forward with Him. NO PARKING!
God, do not allow us to park in what should be NO PARKING ZONES!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
It Runs In the Family
My sister, Ruth, had her second knee replacement yesterday. She just had the first one done in June. She's a better woman than I am! She needs someone there to help her for a week or two as she recuperates, and I am the only person available. Bless her heart! She certainly deserves better! But, I'll do what I can, and we won't worry about the rest. One thing I know I can give her is a great deal of laughter! There has never been a shortage of things to laugh about when Ruth and I are together!
Most of our laughter these days comes from reminiscing about things similar to the things I've shared about my children. For instance, there was the time Ruth and I were upstairs in our bedroom goofing off and making so much noise, mostly laughing, that Dad finally had his fill. He was downstairs in the living room, so it was pretty obvious we had gone to the extreme when the door to the stairway flew open and he yelled from the bottom of the steps, "If I hear anymore noise out of you two girls, I'm going to come up there and give you both a sound spanking!" We knew from experience he could do just that!
It seems there is always one child in a family who doesn't know when to quit. In Randy's family that would be Aaron. In Kevin's family it would be Dan. In Rob's family it would be Jacob. And in Kenny's family, I'd have to say it would probably be Ashley. In my family, that would be ME!
Ruth always knew when enough was enough. She said she was going downstairs before Dad decided to make good on his promised punishment! My first mistake was not following her lead.
Ours was an older home with an enclosed stairway. At the top of the stairs and to the right, was a door that led into the only bathroom in the house. To the left there was a short hallway that led to the bedroom Ruth and I shared. There was a railing from the top of the stairway to the wall leading into that bedroom. Just inside the bedroom door and to the left was a small closet. To the right of the entrance was a wall just wide enough for a double bed to stand. On the other side of the bed was a doorway which led into my parents room. Just inside that door, in their room and to the right, was their closet, then another door leading back into the hallway. The bathroom door was just outside their bedroom and to the left. So, you see, there was a perfect circle from hallway, to bedroom, to bedroom, to hallway, with the bathroom just off sides.
I was still in little girl giggle mode! I would lean over the railing and, in a piercingly shrill voice I would call, "Ruthie!" followed by very loud giggling. After a couple of Ruthies, Dad opened the door and said, "One more time, and I'm coming up there!" He closed the door with force, an indication of his intent! None the less, I thought surely he wouldn't spank me if I did it just one more time, so I leaned over the railing and yelled once more, "Ruthie!" Giggle, giggle!
He meant it! The door opened and my little short, chubby daddy came bounding up those steps like an athlete in top shape! What to do! What to do! I ran! Into the first bedroom, then into the next, my dad in hot pursuit! Back into the hallway and into the first bedroom again. He was gaining on me! Into Mom and Dad's bedroom, then into the hallway again. I needed a break. He was still coming! This time I ran into my bedroom and hopped into the closet. I peeked through the closet door and watched as Dad ran past and into the other bedroom. This time I followed him. Seeing as the closet thing worked so well, I decided to try it again. I followed Dad into his bedroom and jumped into his closet. There I stood barely breathing as I watched him repeatedly run the circle from room, to hallway, to room, and back again. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen!
But, I knew I couldn't stay in that closet forever. And, I knew my dad's temper was not calming down from the exercise. I had to get out of that closet! However, surrender didn't seem like the way to go, either. There was only one place to go --- the bathroom! It had a lock on the door. Well, I guess you could call it a lock. It was one of those hook and eye things, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I darted out of the closet behind my dad, ran into the bathroom and locked the door. Then I huddled down between the sink and the toilet stool. Whatever made me think I had found a place of refuge I will never know!
Dad had to have heard the door shut and lock. I knew the inevitable was coming. I had just enough time to consider if what I had just experienced outside of the bathroom was worth what i was about to endure at my father's hand when he entered the bathroom!. YES! I determined that it certainly was worth it to watch from the closet as my dad ran circles around the upstairs of our house chasing, well, no one!
Before I could even think about unlocking the door, Dad came right through the door! And I received the whipping of my life! Those were the days when spanking was a part of child rearing and actually did some good sometimes! As with every spanking I ever received from my father's hand, this is the ritual we went through. DAD: (spank) "Are you sorry?" ME: "Yes!" DAD: (spank) "Are you ever going to do it again?" ME: "NO!" TRANSLATION: "Yes, I'm sorry I'm being spanked. No, I'm never going to do this particular deed again, but there will no doubt be a next time."
Most of our laughter these days comes from reminiscing about things similar to the things I've shared about my children. For instance, there was the time Ruth and I were upstairs in our bedroom goofing off and making so much noise, mostly laughing, that Dad finally had his fill. He was downstairs in the living room, so it was pretty obvious we had gone to the extreme when the door to the stairway flew open and he yelled from the bottom of the steps, "If I hear anymore noise out of you two girls, I'm going to come up there and give you both a sound spanking!" We knew from experience he could do just that!
It seems there is always one child in a family who doesn't know when to quit. In Randy's family that would be Aaron. In Kevin's family it would be Dan. In Rob's family it would be Jacob. And in Kenny's family, I'd have to say it would probably be Ashley. In my family, that would be ME!
Ruth always knew when enough was enough. She said she was going downstairs before Dad decided to make good on his promised punishment! My first mistake was not following her lead.
Ours was an older home with an enclosed stairway. At the top of the stairs and to the right, was a door that led into the only bathroom in the house. To the left there was a short hallway that led to the bedroom Ruth and I shared. There was a railing from the top of the stairway to the wall leading into that bedroom. Just inside the bedroom door and to the left was a small closet. To the right of the entrance was a wall just wide enough for a double bed to stand. On the other side of the bed was a doorway which led into my parents room. Just inside that door, in their room and to the right, was their closet, then another door leading back into the hallway. The bathroom door was just outside their bedroom and to the left. So, you see, there was a perfect circle from hallway, to bedroom, to bedroom, to hallway, with the bathroom just off sides.
I was still in little girl giggle mode! I would lean over the railing and, in a piercingly shrill voice I would call, "Ruthie!" followed by very loud giggling. After a couple of Ruthies, Dad opened the door and said, "One more time, and I'm coming up there!" He closed the door with force, an indication of his intent! None the less, I thought surely he wouldn't spank me if I did it just one more time, so I leaned over the railing and yelled once more, "Ruthie!" Giggle, giggle!
He meant it! The door opened and my little short, chubby daddy came bounding up those steps like an athlete in top shape! What to do! What to do! I ran! Into the first bedroom, then into the next, my dad in hot pursuit! Back into the hallway and into the first bedroom again. He was gaining on me! Into Mom and Dad's bedroom, then into the hallway again. I needed a break. He was still coming! This time I ran into my bedroom and hopped into the closet. I peeked through the closet door and watched as Dad ran past and into the other bedroom. This time I followed him. Seeing as the closet thing worked so well, I decided to try it again. I followed Dad into his bedroom and jumped into his closet. There I stood barely breathing as I watched him repeatedly run the circle from room, to hallway, to room, and back again. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen!
But, I knew I couldn't stay in that closet forever. And, I knew my dad's temper was not calming down from the exercise. I had to get out of that closet! However, surrender didn't seem like the way to go, either. There was only one place to go --- the bathroom! It had a lock on the door. Well, I guess you could call it a lock. It was one of those hook and eye things, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I darted out of the closet behind my dad, ran into the bathroom and locked the door. Then I huddled down between the sink and the toilet stool. Whatever made me think I had found a place of refuge I will never know!
Dad had to have heard the door shut and lock. I knew the inevitable was coming. I had just enough time to consider if what I had just experienced outside of the bathroom was worth what i was about to endure at my father's hand when he entered the bathroom!. YES! I determined that it certainly was worth it to watch from the closet as my dad ran circles around the upstairs of our house chasing, well, no one!
Before I could even think about unlocking the door, Dad came right through the door! And I received the whipping of my life! Those were the days when spanking was a part of child rearing and actually did some good sometimes! As with every spanking I ever received from my father's hand, this is the ritual we went through. DAD: (spank) "Are you sorry?" ME: "Yes!" DAD: (spank) "Are you ever going to do it again?" ME: "NO!" TRANSLATION: "Yes, I'm sorry I'm being spanked. No, I'm never going to do this particular deed again, but there will no doubt be a next time."
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Great Command To Love
I love my family! I love ice cream of various flavors! I love mildly warm days with lots of sunshine when I can lounge on the patio and watch the world go by! I love warm covers on a cold winter night! I love people who are friendly and people I know love me! Those are just a few of the things I love.
May I add to the list an obnoxious Sunday school child, someone who lies about me, a scruffy looking man who doesn't smell good, or a person who abused me as a child? Wait a minute! I do not see, in any of these, attributes that make them easy to love! It has been said that loving the world is no chore. It is that miserable guy next door who is the problem. Loving God and our neighbor is the very heart of biblical religion and the essence of the Judeo-Christian ethic.
The Ten Commandments are a love command addressed to God's chosen people. He had redeemed them by His grace and made an exclusive claim upon their worship. It was a covenant love; I do something for you, and you do something for me. God would love the people, and the people would love the Lord with all their hearts. God would redeem them from slavery, and the people should have no other gods. The idea was that human love would respond in radical obedience to God's redeeming love. Thus the Great Commandment of Matthew 22 compels us to love the Lord with everything we have and all that we are.
In the unsanctified life, this kind of radical obedience is not possible. An unsanctified heart is an idolatrous heart. God is in the life, but He is not the only god. Martin Luther observed, "Idolatry is the sin of any heart in which God does not rule alone. The lurking self-idolatry of the unsanctified heart creates a host of idols - unholy ambition, greed, lust, and soon -before which we foolishly bow down and waste ourselves."
Part two of the Great Love Commandment is to love our neighbors as ourselves. That's good, if our neighbors can stand that much affection! A.K. Braken said, "Some people seem never to have discovered that the world is chiefly populated by others!" Someone else once said that the fellow who is deeply in love with himself should get a divorce!" God is saying, "Divorce yourself from self, and put the good of others above your own good." That includes the unlovable.
In Matthew 5:44, Jesus says, "But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you."
Perfect love is not a feeling. We can't make ourselves love that way. The forgiving love of Christ on Calvary demonstrates for us that kind of love. Jesus, being without sin and the incarnate love of the Father lived out in the flesh, was able to demonstrate that love for us. He made it possible for us to posses perfect love through His atoning sacrifice. A new covenant was instituted through Christ. We receive forgiveness of sin, we receive the witness of the Spirit, and the law is written on our hearts. Total submission to the will of God in our lives, and the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit, acknowledges God's supremacy and our need for new mercy every morning. It is not perfectionism which leads to legalism, but perfect motive which enables us to fulfill God's perfect plan.
May I add to the list an obnoxious Sunday school child, someone who lies about me, a scruffy looking man who doesn't smell good, or a person who abused me as a child? Wait a minute! I do not see, in any of these, attributes that make them easy to love! It has been said that loving the world is no chore. It is that miserable guy next door who is the problem. Loving God and our neighbor is the very heart of biblical religion and the essence of the Judeo-Christian ethic.
The Ten Commandments are a love command addressed to God's chosen people. He had redeemed them by His grace and made an exclusive claim upon their worship. It was a covenant love; I do something for you, and you do something for me. God would love the people, and the people would love the Lord with all their hearts. God would redeem them from slavery, and the people should have no other gods. The idea was that human love would respond in radical obedience to God's redeeming love. Thus the Great Commandment of Matthew 22 compels us to love the Lord with everything we have and all that we are.
In the unsanctified life, this kind of radical obedience is not possible. An unsanctified heart is an idolatrous heart. God is in the life, but He is not the only god. Martin Luther observed, "Idolatry is the sin of any heart in which God does not rule alone. The lurking self-idolatry of the unsanctified heart creates a host of idols - unholy ambition, greed, lust, and soon -before which we foolishly bow down and waste ourselves."
Part two of the Great Love Commandment is to love our neighbors as ourselves. That's good, if our neighbors can stand that much affection! A.K. Braken said, "Some people seem never to have discovered that the world is chiefly populated by others!" Someone else once said that the fellow who is deeply in love with himself should get a divorce!" God is saying, "Divorce yourself from self, and put the good of others above your own good." That includes the unlovable.
In Matthew 5:44, Jesus says, "But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you."
Perfect love is not a feeling. We can't make ourselves love that way. The forgiving love of Christ on Calvary demonstrates for us that kind of love. Jesus, being without sin and the incarnate love of the Father lived out in the flesh, was able to demonstrate that love for us. He made it possible for us to posses perfect love through His atoning sacrifice. A new covenant was instituted through Christ. We receive forgiveness of sin, we receive the witness of the Spirit, and the law is written on our hearts. Total submission to the will of God in our lives, and the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit, acknowledges God's supremacy and our need for new mercy every morning. It is not perfectionism which leads to legalism, but perfect motive which enables us to fulfill God's perfect plan.
Friday, September 11, 2009
That Darn Cat!
We moved to Rockton in July of 1973. That fall I became very ill and, since we had not yet found a doctor locally, had to return to Rock Island to see my doctor there. I had a serious sinus condition that was affecting my lungs. My doctor checked me over briefly in his office, then sent me directly to the hospital. A specialist was called in to determine the problem and the solution. The treatment turned out to be extensive sinus surgery. Who do you call when you need someone to step in and care for the children at a time like that? Mom, of course.
My parents had moved to Bowie, Texas around the same time we took up residence in Rockton. But Mom was more than willing to make the long trip back to Illinois to take care of her baby's babies for as long as needed.
My only regret in telling this story is the fact that I did not personally witness the scene I am about to describe to you. I do, however, have a very vivid picture in my mind of what must have happened that Sunday morning in the parsonage chapel.
Boys seem to always need, or at least want, a pet of some kind. We had our share of them, although most of ours didn't last too long. At that time our parsonage pet was a kitten. Randy seemed the one who really liked the kitten and took the responsibility of looking after it.
One Sunday, while I was still hospitalized, Mom had all four boys lined up in a pew with her. They were sitting about half way down the aisle from the back of the sanctuary. Mom was sitting mid-pew with Kenny and Robby to her right and Kevin and Randy to her left. My husband had just begun preaching when the kitten, sitting just outside the church door, began crying mournfully. It was becoming quite a distraction, so my mother decided to do something about it. She sent Randy outside to get the cat and put it in the house where its crying could not be heard by the entire congregation. Then he was to come immediately back into the church for the remainder of the service.
Randy was more than happy to oblige! Chasing the cat sounded like a great deal more fun than sitting in church on a beautiful fall Sunday morning. He went, but he didn't come back. Mom waited. Randy still didn't come back. Finally, as much as she hated making any more of a disturbance, she decided she had better go find Randy.
Now, Kevin was between Mom and the center aisle she was headed toward. Kevin was only six years old and had very short legs. When he was sitting back in the pew, his knees bent at the edge of the seat, but his feet would not come anywhere near touching the floor. So, there he sat kicking one leg up and then the other. As Mom stepped in front of Kevin on her way to the aisle, Kevin's leg came up right between her own legs. As she tried her best to step over that leg, the other one came up and caught her between her legs, sending her into a spin. She spun right into the middle of the aisle, teetered this way and that way in an attempt to regain her balance. It was to no avail. Poor Mother found herself sitting flat on the floor, in the center of the aisle, feet extended outward, looking directly into the forlorn face of her pastor son-in-law! She picked herself up, straightened herself out, and headed for the door. At this point she was overjoyed to have Randy as an excuse to leave!
Once in the house, Randy found and the cat quieted down, she thought she was safe from the embarrassment of facing the people who had witnessed her sitting spread eagle in the center aisle. She waited until it seemed the sound of voices in the church had subsided, then she opened the kitchen door. There before her stood the entire congregation wanting to make sure she was okay. She assured them there were no bumps or bruises on her body, but her dignity was badly damaged!
My parents had moved to Bowie, Texas around the same time we took up residence in Rockton. But Mom was more than willing to make the long trip back to Illinois to take care of her baby's babies for as long as needed.
My only regret in telling this story is the fact that I did not personally witness the scene I am about to describe to you. I do, however, have a very vivid picture in my mind of what must have happened that Sunday morning in the parsonage chapel.
Boys seem to always need, or at least want, a pet of some kind. We had our share of them, although most of ours didn't last too long. At that time our parsonage pet was a kitten. Randy seemed the one who really liked the kitten and took the responsibility of looking after it.
One Sunday, while I was still hospitalized, Mom had all four boys lined up in a pew with her. They were sitting about half way down the aisle from the back of the sanctuary. Mom was sitting mid-pew with Kenny and Robby to her right and Kevin and Randy to her left. My husband had just begun preaching when the kitten, sitting just outside the church door, began crying mournfully. It was becoming quite a distraction, so my mother decided to do something about it. She sent Randy outside to get the cat and put it in the house where its crying could not be heard by the entire congregation. Then he was to come immediately back into the church for the remainder of the service.
Randy was more than happy to oblige! Chasing the cat sounded like a great deal more fun than sitting in church on a beautiful fall Sunday morning. He went, but he didn't come back. Mom waited. Randy still didn't come back. Finally, as much as she hated making any more of a disturbance, she decided she had better go find Randy.
Now, Kevin was between Mom and the center aisle she was headed toward. Kevin was only six years old and had very short legs. When he was sitting back in the pew, his knees bent at the edge of the seat, but his feet would not come anywhere near touching the floor. So, there he sat kicking one leg up and then the other. As Mom stepped in front of Kevin on her way to the aisle, Kevin's leg came up right between her own legs. As she tried her best to step over that leg, the other one came up and caught her between her legs, sending her into a spin. She spun right into the middle of the aisle, teetered this way and that way in an attempt to regain her balance. It was to no avail. Poor Mother found herself sitting flat on the floor, in the center of the aisle, feet extended outward, looking directly into the forlorn face of her pastor son-in-law! She picked herself up, straightened herself out, and headed for the door. At this point she was overjoyed to have Randy as an excuse to leave!
Once in the house, Randy found and the cat quieted down, she thought she was safe from the embarrassment of facing the people who had witnessed her sitting spread eagle in the center aisle. She waited until it seemed the sound of voices in the church had subsided, then she opened the kitchen door. There before her stood the entire congregation wanting to make sure she was okay. She assured them there were no bumps or bruises on her body, but her dignity was badly damaged!
Friday, September 4, 2009
How It All Began
I was so excited to be interviewing for our first pastorate! We had been told by our District Superintendent that the Rockton, Illinois church was a parsonage chapel. That was fine with me! Ken's sister and brother-in-law lived in a parsonage chapel. It was wonderful! The house was completely private. You couldn't even see the entrance into the church from the house. You actually felt like you had a house with a separate church building. I could live with that!
It was about an hour and a half drive from Rock Island, where we lived, to Rockton. We left town early so we would arrive in time to look the town over a bit, and, of course, find the building.
Rockton was, and still is, a lovely little town of about 2200 people. In a town that size, everyone usually knows just about everyone else. They certainly know where everything is, like gas stations, stores, the police department, post office, and churches. We looked around town, then began our search for the church. We found it to be well hidden! No one in Rockton that we talked to had ever even heard of the Rockton Church of the Nazarene. Not even the owner of the gas station right down the street from the church had ever heard of it! Finally, with no help from the locals, we found the parsonage chapel I was so anxious to see.
There it sat, on a huge lot, with a long driveway leading from the service road to the building. The exterior of the building wasn't too bad. It just looked like a small ranch style house. There were no distinguishing marks of a church. As my eyes left the building and began to scan the rest of the property, my attention was drawn to something quite unexpected. The toilet was sitting under a tree in the front yard. My excitement began to wane!
Not wanting to be too hasty in my judgement, I figured there was a good explanation for having the toilet in the yard. I decided to reserve judgement until I saw the interior. I still had visions of Donna and John's parsonage chapel dancing in my head. Some of the parishioners that were working on the house, to get it ready for a new parsonage family, met us at the door leading into the house. They were all smiles and gave us a warm welcome. We stepped inside the kitchen to find nothing like the parsonage chapel of my dreams!
The entrance to the house, from outside, led directly into a large kitchen. There was no separate dining area, but the kitchen was big enough to be an "eat-in." Across the room, to the right, I saw two more doorways, one with a door and one without. The one without a door led from the kitchen into a very small living room. The one with a door led directly from the kitchen into the back of the sanctuary of the church. How convenient! Open the door, and you're in church!
I told you in an earlier writing about the nursery window that had been cut into the living room wall and about the small bedrooms and bath. It wasn't pretty. It was nothing like what I was expecting. It was not at all big enough to house a family of six! It was horrible! I just wanted to go home and never look back. If Kenny thought I was going to move out of a big two story, three bedroom house just down the street from some of our closest church friends in Rock Island, to live in this little cracker box of a house with a nursery window in the living room, he was crazy!
We got through the interview, loaded everyone into the car, and headed for home, sweet home! I looked across the car at my husband and said, with great resolve, "If I never see that place again, it will be too soon!" His reply --- "That's too bad, because I think this is where God wants us to be."
God knew how I felt. I made sure of that! I put Him to the test. I asked Him to do things that only He could do in order to show me this was really His will. God met every challenge. There was no doubt in my mind that going to a pitiful little parsonage chapel, to begin our pastoral ministry, was definitely God's will for our lives. And so began the great adventure of our lifetime.
It was about an hour and a half drive from Rock Island, where we lived, to Rockton. We left town early so we would arrive in time to look the town over a bit, and, of course, find the building.
Rockton was, and still is, a lovely little town of about 2200 people. In a town that size, everyone usually knows just about everyone else. They certainly know where everything is, like gas stations, stores, the police department, post office, and churches. We looked around town, then began our search for the church. We found it to be well hidden! No one in Rockton that we talked to had ever even heard of the Rockton Church of the Nazarene. Not even the owner of the gas station right down the street from the church had ever heard of it! Finally, with no help from the locals, we found the parsonage chapel I was so anxious to see.
There it sat, on a huge lot, with a long driveway leading from the service road to the building. The exterior of the building wasn't too bad. It just looked like a small ranch style house. There were no distinguishing marks of a church. As my eyes left the building and began to scan the rest of the property, my attention was drawn to something quite unexpected. The toilet was sitting under a tree in the front yard. My excitement began to wane!
Not wanting to be too hasty in my judgement, I figured there was a good explanation for having the toilet in the yard. I decided to reserve judgement until I saw the interior. I still had visions of Donna and John's parsonage chapel dancing in my head. Some of the parishioners that were working on the house, to get it ready for a new parsonage family, met us at the door leading into the house. They were all smiles and gave us a warm welcome. We stepped inside the kitchen to find nothing like the parsonage chapel of my dreams!
The entrance to the house, from outside, led directly into a large kitchen. There was no separate dining area, but the kitchen was big enough to be an "eat-in." Across the room, to the right, I saw two more doorways, one with a door and one without. The one without a door led from the kitchen into a very small living room. The one with a door led directly from the kitchen into the back of the sanctuary of the church. How convenient! Open the door, and you're in church!
I told you in an earlier writing about the nursery window that had been cut into the living room wall and about the small bedrooms and bath. It wasn't pretty. It was nothing like what I was expecting. It was not at all big enough to house a family of six! It was horrible! I just wanted to go home and never look back. If Kenny thought I was going to move out of a big two story, three bedroom house just down the street from some of our closest church friends in Rock Island, to live in this little cracker box of a house with a nursery window in the living room, he was crazy!
We got through the interview, loaded everyone into the car, and headed for home, sweet home! I looked across the car at my husband and said, with great resolve, "If I never see that place again, it will be too soon!" His reply --- "That's too bad, because I think this is where God wants us to be."
God knew how I felt. I made sure of that! I put Him to the test. I asked Him to do things that only He could do in order to show me this was really His will. God met every challenge. There was no doubt in my mind that going to a pitiful little parsonage chapel, to begin our pastoral ministry, was definitely God's will for our lives. And so began the great adventure of our lifetime.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
What I Know For Sure
There are times in life when I am tempted, not to perform some act of sin, but to try to rearrange my circumstances in order to avoid the unpleasantness of life. I am tempted to think of myself as a favorite child who should be able to escape heartache, pain, illness, suffering, financial disaster, and all other forms of human discomfort. I want too wake up each morning with the assurance that I am cloaked with some sort of supernatural protection that insures safe keeping and success in every avenue of life for yet another twenty-four hours, only to be followed by another such day until I finally escape the bonds of human existence and go on to heaven.
After all, I am a Child of God! I have been adopted into the family with all the rights and privileges of that position! I want to shout to the enemy of my soul, who continues to dash my hopes for the life free of trouble and trial, "Hey! Do you have any idea who you're messing with here? God, Creator of the Universe, is my Father, and Jesus Christ is my elder Brother! And they are not going to like what you're doing to me one little bit!
Then I hear the voice of my Father gently reminding me to look to the example of my elder brother, Jesus, who thought it not robbery to give up His Glory, His equality with the Father, and become nothing for my sake. He had the power to call legions of angels to minister to His every need while in the midst of temptation in the wilderness but chose not to avail Himself of that power. Instead He showed me I can survive any temptation because of what I know to be true about WHO I am, WHERE I came from, and WHERE I'm going. I know I am a Child of God! That alone defines who I am. Just like Jesus, I know I come from the Father. Whether anyone else accepts that as truth or not, the truth remains the same. He has given me LIFE and in Him I breathe and move and have my being! And, I know, whatever life deals me in the way of trouble and suffering, I have the glorious hope of an eternity free from suffering. Someday I'm going home to live with the whole family forever and ever and ever!
After all, I am a Child of God! I have been adopted into the family with all the rights and privileges of that position! I want to shout to the enemy of my soul, who continues to dash my hopes for the life free of trouble and trial, "Hey! Do you have any idea who you're messing with here? God, Creator of the Universe, is my Father, and Jesus Christ is my elder Brother! And they are not going to like what you're doing to me one little bit!
Then I hear the voice of my Father gently reminding me to look to the example of my elder brother, Jesus, who thought it not robbery to give up His Glory, His equality with the Father, and become nothing for my sake. He had the power to call legions of angels to minister to His every need while in the midst of temptation in the wilderness but chose not to avail Himself of that power. Instead He showed me I can survive any temptation because of what I know to be true about WHO I am, WHERE I came from, and WHERE I'm going. I know I am a Child of God! That alone defines who I am. Just like Jesus, I know I come from the Father. Whether anyone else accepts that as truth or not, the truth remains the same. He has given me LIFE and in Him I breathe and move and have my being! And, I know, whatever life deals me in the way of trouble and suffering, I have the glorious hope of an eternity free from suffering. Someday I'm going home to live with the whole family forever and ever and ever!
Sunday, August 30, 2009
And the Beat Goes On!
If there is one thing in life I would like to do over, it would be wishing, on my children, children of their own that are just like them. See, we, as parents, do that without considering the consequences of the wish coming true. If I had had any idea of the amount of time I would be spending with those children, or the possibility of them acting anything like their fathers, I would have made a totally different wish! I would have wished for quiet, well behaved children that always obeyed without being told more than once. Children who never thought to pull pranks on each other, especially in Church! Children who always brought out the best in ME! But, no! I had to say, "I hope when you grow up you have kids that are just like you! Then you'll understand why I get so upset!" Well, that wish came true, and I have paid dearly for it over the years.
Like the time Kevin and Diana went on some wonderful vacation and left me at home with their two boys, Andrew and Daniel. Daniel was still in preschool at the time, and Andrew first grade. I had had quite the week with those two boys! It was the last day I had to get them off to school, and it wasn't going well. I was trying to get them dressed. They were jumping on the livingroom sofa like it was a trampolene. Nothing I said or did seemed to dissuade them. They didn't care that time was slipping away, or that there was a good chance both of them would be late for school. And, they certainly could have cared less that they were not supposed to use the sofa as a trampolene. My voice, getting louder by the second, was completely drowned out by the screaming and laughing and jumping.
Finally, in total desperation, I grabbed one boy, smacked his little bum and sat him down on the couch. Then I grabbed the other little boy and followed the same proceedure with him. For a brief moment there was total silence as they tried to make sense of what had just happened. I had never laid a finger on either of them in their lives. When the reality set in that Grandma had actually spanked them (just one small swat, I assure you) Andrew just sat there with a look of total disbelief on his face. Daniel began to wail!
As the tears flowed, Daniel cried, "Grandma, you made me very sad!" With that, the tears began to flow from my eyes, as well. Immediately Daniel stopped crying. He, too, had a look of disbelief on his face. "Grandma, why are you crying?" he asked. Through the tears I said, "Because you made me very sad!" Andrew came close to me, put his little arm around my neck and drew me as closely to himself as possible. With a soft, kind voice he said to me, "It's okay, Grandma. Our mom cries a lot, too."
This morning crying was not the problem. Well, maybe, in a way, but inadvertently. You see we had a carry in dinner after church today. Michaelle, Randy's wife,was in charge of the kitchen and organizing and setting up the food tables in the fellowship hall. She had recruited Randy to help and asked if Trevor and Aaron could sit with me in church. Corey stayed in the kitchen with Mom and Dad. Once in the sanctuary, Aaron decided he wanted to sit with Daniel across the aisle from Trevor and me. Uncle Kevin said it was fine, so I agreed.
Trevor was being so good! And so was Aaron until he decided he wanted to sit with us after all. Across the aisle he came. From the moment he sat down, I knew he was in the ornery mode. He hadn't done anything yet. It just sort of radiated out of him. He had a few little stickers I assume he was given by his Sunday school teacher. I watched as he took one and stuck it to the hair on the side of Trevor's head a couple of inches above the ear. Tevor has a short crew cut, so I thought the sticker would just peel right off without any effort.
Aaron reached up and pulled the sticker off of Trevor's head. I was so wrong! That sticker stuck quite well on that short hair. And, when peeled off, it sounded just like a band aid coming off of a hairy arm! The sound could be heard for rows ahead and behind! Trevor looked at me in total shock, as did Aaron! The looks on their faces did something to tickle my funny bone. I wanted to get angry, to really let Aaron have it for doing such a thing! But, I could not control the laughter. I laughed so hard the tears began streaming down my cheeks. Every time I looked at Aaron with the intention of giving him a verbal reprimand, I started laughing uncontrollably again. My shoulders shook, the tears flowed, I was a mess!
Finally I was able to gain enough self control to look Aaron straight in the eyes and tell him that after church he was going to apologize to the people behind us for interrupting their worship! Aaron turned around to see those people, then turned back to me. As serious as a heart attack he asked, "Just those three, or all of 'em?" I was gone again!
Like the time Kevin and Diana went on some wonderful vacation and left me at home with their two boys, Andrew and Daniel. Daniel was still in preschool at the time, and Andrew first grade. I had had quite the week with those two boys! It was the last day I had to get them off to school, and it wasn't going well. I was trying to get them dressed. They were jumping on the livingroom sofa like it was a trampolene. Nothing I said or did seemed to dissuade them. They didn't care that time was slipping away, or that there was a good chance both of them would be late for school. And, they certainly could have cared less that they were not supposed to use the sofa as a trampolene. My voice, getting louder by the second, was completely drowned out by the screaming and laughing and jumping.
Finally, in total desperation, I grabbed one boy, smacked his little bum and sat him down on the couch. Then I grabbed the other little boy and followed the same proceedure with him. For a brief moment there was total silence as they tried to make sense of what had just happened. I had never laid a finger on either of them in their lives. When the reality set in that Grandma had actually spanked them (just one small swat, I assure you) Andrew just sat there with a look of total disbelief on his face. Daniel began to wail!
As the tears flowed, Daniel cried, "Grandma, you made me very sad!" With that, the tears began to flow from my eyes, as well. Immediately Daniel stopped crying. He, too, had a look of disbelief on his face. "Grandma, why are you crying?" he asked. Through the tears I said, "Because you made me very sad!" Andrew came close to me, put his little arm around my neck and drew me as closely to himself as possible. With a soft, kind voice he said to me, "It's okay, Grandma. Our mom cries a lot, too."
This morning crying was not the problem. Well, maybe, in a way, but inadvertently. You see we had a carry in dinner after church today. Michaelle, Randy's wife,was in charge of the kitchen and organizing and setting up the food tables in the fellowship hall. She had recruited Randy to help and asked if Trevor and Aaron could sit with me in church. Corey stayed in the kitchen with Mom and Dad. Once in the sanctuary, Aaron decided he wanted to sit with Daniel across the aisle from Trevor and me. Uncle Kevin said it was fine, so I agreed.
Trevor was being so good! And so was Aaron until he decided he wanted to sit with us after all. Across the aisle he came. From the moment he sat down, I knew he was in the ornery mode. He hadn't done anything yet. It just sort of radiated out of him. He had a few little stickers I assume he was given by his Sunday school teacher. I watched as he took one and stuck it to the hair on the side of Trevor's head a couple of inches above the ear. Tevor has a short crew cut, so I thought the sticker would just peel right off without any effort.
Aaron reached up and pulled the sticker off of Trevor's head. I was so wrong! That sticker stuck quite well on that short hair. And, when peeled off, it sounded just like a band aid coming off of a hairy arm! The sound could be heard for rows ahead and behind! Trevor looked at me in total shock, as did Aaron! The looks on their faces did something to tickle my funny bone. I wanted to get angry, to really let Aaron have it for doing such a thing! But, I could not control the laughter. I laughed so hard the tears began streaming down my cheeks. Every time I looked at Aaron with the intention of giving him a verbal reprimand, I started laughing uncontrollably again. My shoulders shook, the tears flowed, I was a mess!
Finally I was able to gain enough self control to look Aaron straight in the eyes and tell him that after church he was going to apologize to the people behind us for interrupting their worship! Aaron turned around to see those people, then turned back to me. As serious as a heart attack he asked, "Just those three, or all of 'em?" I was gone again!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Cooking Pot Christianity
There is something about beautiful handmade pottery that fascinates me. I look at an unusual piece of earthenware and almost immediately begin to picture in my mind the artist who molded and made a worthless piece of clay into a beautiful work of art. Whenever my husband and I travel, I look for shops that sell pottery made by local artisans. Usually I just look, but sometimes I find a piece I think I just can't live without.
One such piece is a beautiful blue bowl with a pouring spout on one side and a sleekly formed handle on the other. Where the potter pressed the handle into place with his thumb, I can place my thumb. And, where his fingers formed the pouring spout, I can place my fingers. The impressions he made on that bowl are so evident! I love that piece of pottery! To me it is a work of art.
It caught my eye the moment I walked into the little shop in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. The lady behind the counter remarked about the beauty of the bowl and told me of the artist in the area that had created it. Then she said, "Not only is this a beautiful piece of pottery, but, best of all, this is usable pottery!"
I have to admit I had not thought of the usefulness of any of the pottery I had admired. I simply liked it for its beauty and the thought of the hands of the master potter gently, yet firmly, forming a piece of clay into a wonderful work of art. The value of this lovely bowl for me was purely aesthetic. However, I was curious about its usefulness and asked the clerk for an explanation. She told me the bowl could be used for mixing, serving and even baking, and it would still look beautiful sitting out for display. I saw a beautiful work of art. Now she was telling me it was actually a cooking pot!
In this little lake town in Wisconsin, a potter had taken a useless lump of clay and fashioned it into a beautiful vessel fit for use. That didn't just happen! The original clay had to be cleansed of impurities and carefully kneaded to remove destructive air bubbles before it could even begin to be formed into a vessel. Once the vessel was formed, it was still fragile and unfinished. Not until the potter added color, design, and glaze, and put the vessel through the intense heat of the kiln, did it become a vessel of beauty fit for use.
In Jeremiah 18:6,we read that He (God) is the potter and we are the clay. He knows exactly what ingredients to add to the clay in order to properly mold it. In the process, sometimes the clay breaks apart or developes a terrible flaw that would affect its beauty and usefulness if left undone. The potter doesn't throw the clay away. He works it with his hands and places it on the potter's wheel again. And the process of remolding and reshaping begins. Every finished piece must then go through the fire. The purpose of the fire is not to harm the vessel but to give it the strength to withstand the uses for which it was created. He knows just how much of the fire it will take to turn us into vessels of honor fit for use. It is His fingerprints that can be seen on the finished product.
Some years ago on an archaeological dig, at a well-known Roman site, Mr. Tony Birks picked up a dull fawn colored fragment of pottery. On the side, he could still see the fingerprints of a potter from some two thousand years ago.
II Timothy 2:20-21 says, "In a large house there are articles not only of gold and silver, but also of wood and clay; some are for noble purposes, and some for ignoble. If a man cleanse himself of the latter, he will be an instument for noble purposes, made holy, useful to the Master, and prepared to do any good work."
God is willing to do whatever it takes to mold us into noble vessels. However, we must be willing to be molded. No matter how long it takes He will continue to work the clay with never a thought of casting it aside. And, when the molding is done, the color, design and glaze are added, and we have been strengthened in the fire, His fingerprints will be visible on these beautiful vessels of honor fit for the Master's use.
One such piece is a beautiful blue bowl with a pouring spout on one side and a sleekly formed handle on the other. Where the potter pressed the handle into place with his thumb, I can place my thumb. And, where his fingers formed the pouring spout, I can place my fingers. The impressions he made on that bowl are so evident! I love that piece of pottery! To me it is a work of art.
It caught my eye the moment I walked into the little shop in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. The lady behind the counter remarked about the beauty of the bowl and told me of the artist in the area that had created it. Then she said, "Not only is this a beautiful piece of pottery, but, best of all, this is usable pottery!"
I have to admit I had not thought of the usefulness of any of the pottery I had admired. I simply liked it for its beauty and the thought of the hands of the master potter gently, yet firmly, forming a piece of clay into a wonderful work of art. The value of this lovely bowl for me was purely aesthetic. However, I was curious about its usefulness and asked the clerk for an explanation. She told me the bowl could be used for mixing, serving and even baking, and it would still look beautiful sitting out for display. I saw a beautiful work of art. Now she was telling me it was actually a cooking pot!
In this little lake town in Wisconsin, a potter had taken a useless lump of clay and fashioned it into a beautiful vessel fit for use. That didn't just happen! The original clay had to be cleansed of impurities and carefully kneaded to remove destructive air bubbles before it could even begin to be formed into a vessel. Once the vessel was formed, it was still fragile and unfinished. Not until the potter added color, design, and glaze, and put the vessel through the intense heat of the kiln, did it become a vessel of beauty fit for use.
In Jeremiah 18:6,we read that He (God) is the potter and we are the clay. He knows exactly what ingredients to add to the clay in order to properly mold it. In the process, sometimes the clay breaks apart or developes a terrible flaw that would affect its beauty and usefulness if left undone. The potter doesn't throw the clay away. He works it with his hands and places it on the potter's wheel again. And the process of remolding and reshaping begins. Every finished piece must then go through the fire. The purpose of the fire is not to harm the vessel but to give it the strength to withstand the uses for which it was created. He knows just how much of the fire it will take to turn us into vessels of honor fit for use. It is His fingerprints that can be seen on the finished product.
Some years ago on an archaeological dig, at a well-known Roman site, Mr. Tony Birks picked up a dull fawn colored fragment of pottery. On the side, he could still see the fingerprints of a potter from some two thousand years ago.
II Timothy 2:20-21 says, "In a large house there are articles not only of gold and silver, but also of wood and clay; some are for noble purposes, and some for ignoble. If a man cleanse himself of the latter, he will be an instument for noble purposes, made holy, useful to the Master, and prepared to do any good work."
God is willing to do whatever it takes to mold us into noble vessels. However, we must be willing to be molded. No matter how long it takes He will continue to work the clay with never a thought of casting it aside. And, when the molding is done, the color, design and glaze are added, and we have been strengthened in the fire, His fingerprints will be visible on these beautiful vessels of honor fit for the Master's use.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Whose Kids, Continued
Talking about the old parsonage chapel days has really triggered some memories for me. Like the day I was standing at the kitchen sink when I heard this horrible screaming and crying coming from the yard. I looked out the window and saw Kenny and Robby rolling in the grass and laughing their heads off. About the same time, Kevin, the source of the screaming and crying, came bounding through the door. I didn't know what had happened, but I was sure Kenny and Robby had something to do with it.
Kevin was always a bit melodramatic, so you looked for lots of blood or misplaced bones before getting too upset when he got hurt. This time there was no blood or misplalced bones, however, I could see clearly where the problem was. It was his nose! Something black mixed in with a great deal of mucous was running out of his nose! I had never seen the likes of it before, nor have I since. Kevin was way too upset for me to get any information from him. I figured my best bet was with the culprits who had, I was positive, caused his pain.
Kenny and Robby were just picking themsellves up off of the ground, although still laughing, when I arrived on the scene. "Okay, you two. I don't know what you did, but I know you did it! What's with Kevin's nose?"
"We just gave him a pretty flower to smell." One of them announced. "What's wrong with that?"
"What did you do to the flower to make it lethal? I know you did something, so fess up!"
After a bit of motherly persuation, they finally admitted they had put some, actually a lot, of black pepper in the flower before giving it to Kevin to smell. They enticed him to take a smell. He sniffed it a bit and agreed it was a pretty flower. But, nothing happened. So, they told him to put it close to his nose and take a really big sniff of the flower. The poor unsuspecting child took that flower, stuck his nose right down inside the middle of it and inhaled deeply through his little nose to get the full effect of the fragrance. Instead he sucked so much black pepper up his nose that it took forever to blow it all out and to stop the burning.
In their defense, those four little apples didn't fall too far from the tree. That's right, it's all their dad's fault! For instance --- One fall evening, about 8 PM, Randy had fallen asleep on the livingroom floor watching television. I said we needed to get him up and get all the boys ready for bed. It was a school night. They needed their sleep, and apparently Randy needed his more than anyone. He was only in first grade. Still a baby! Right, mothers? Well, my husband had a better idea.
"Watch this." he said to the other boys. He got Randy's jacket and lunch box and headed for the livingroom. I couldn't imagine what he was going to do. I stood and watched in utter disbelief as he got my baby up out of a deep sleep and put his coat on him all the while saying things like, "Come on, Randy, you're going to miss the bus. It's time to go to school. Here's your lunch box. Hurry up before you miss the bus."
Poor little Randy must have thought he was dreaming. Having a nightmare would be more accurate! I yelled for him to stop, but he was on a roll! He had him outside, coat on, lunch box in hand, eyes closed, head down, heading down our looooong driveway toward the bus stop!
Ken and the boys were roaring with laughter. "Go get that baby and bring him back into this house right now!" I ordered. "I'll get him in a minute. Let's just see how far he gets." said the sadist!
Under great duress, he finally rescued the pitiful child. But the laughter lingered for some time.
Not everything that happened in that little parsonage chapel was funny, though a great deal of it was. We had left behind a good life, with ample security, and moved our family of six to a small church in Northern Illinois to become first time pastor and family. We left our home church of about 300 in attendance, with great programs and activities for everyone. The first Sunday in our new church we had 13 people in the congregation, and 6 of them were our family members. Ken had been working in a factory, as well as managing a photography studo. Though not wealthy by any long shot, we were making a decent living. Our salary in Rockton was $60 a week from the church and another 30 or 40 from the district. Even in 1973 that was not enough to meet the needs of a family with four growing boys.
The holidays were coming, and we were so broke. In fact, a week or so before Thanksgiving we woke one Monday morning to the emptiest cupboards we had ever had and no money to buy anything to put in them. We literally had one can of green beans in the cupboard and enough cereal for the boys to eat for breakfast knowing there would be nothing for them to eat when they got home.
Before they left for school, we spoke honestly to them about the situation. We told them we had no more food and no money to buy any. But God had sent us to this church to minister for Him. We knew He would not let us down. We stood in a family circle holding hands in our kitchen and prayed, "God, we have no more food and no money to buy any. But we are going to trust you to provide for our needs. Thank you for what you are going to do. Amen." With that, the boys went on to school and we went about our business at home.
Early that afternoon Don and Elaine Turner, pastor and wife from a neighboring church, and dear friends, knocked at our door. We were thrilled to see them and invited them in to visit. Ken and Don sat at the kitchen table, and Elaine and I went into the livigroom to talk. We visited for quite some time before I realized the guys had been going in and out of the house repeatedly. Finally I said to Elaine, "What are those two up to, anyway?" "Let's go see" she replied.
As soon as we entered the kitchen, my attention went immediately to the table where boxes and boxes of food had been piled. And Ken and Don were still carrying in more.
Elaine explained that, for over a month, their church people had been bringing in food to give to us for Thanksgiving. Week after week they brought in non-parishable food items, then added meat and dairy products that last Sunday to be delivered to us that day. The very day we ran out of everything so we and our children could experience God's miraculous provisions for those who dare to put their trust in Him for all their needs.
After our friends left, Ken and I emptied every box and bag of food onto the kitchen table and countertops. We wanted the boys to see clearly what God had done for our family. I wish we had taken a picture of their faces when they came home from school that afternoon and saw all that food in our kitchen! We actually had more food than our cupboards would hold! What a faith lesson for our boys! No matter how old they get, my sons will always remember where their help comes from. Their help --- our help comes from the Lord! Thank God for the faith lessons we all learned in a little parsonage chapel in Rockton, Illinois.
Kevin was always a bit melodramatic, so you looked for lots of blood or misplaced bones before getting too upset when he got hurt. This time there was no blood or misplalced bones, however, I could see clearly where the problem was. It was his nose! Something black mixed in with a great deal of mucous was running out of his nose! I had never seen the likes of it before, nor have I since. Kevin was way too upset for me to get any information from him. I figured my best bet was with the culprits who had, I was positive, caused his pain.
Kenny and Robby were just picking themsellves up off of the ground, although still laughing, when I arrived on the scene. "Okay, you two. I don't know what you did, but I know you did it! What's with Kevin's nose?"
"We just gave him a pretty flower to smell." One of them announced. "What's wrong with that?"
"What did you do to the flower to make it lethal? I know you did something, so fess up!"
After a bit of motherly persuation, they finally admitted they had put some, actually a lot, of black pepper in the flower before giving it to Kevin to smell. They enticed him to take a smell. He sniffed it a bit and agreed it was a pretty flower. But, nothing happened. So, they told him to put it close to his nose and take a really big sniff of the flower. The poor unsuspecting child took that flower, stuck his nose right down inside the middle of it and inhaled deeply through his little nose to get the full effect of the fragrance. Instead he sucked so much black pepper up his nose that it took forever to blow it all out and to stop the burning.
In their defense, those four little apples didn't fall too far from the tree. That's right, it's all their dad's fault! For instance --- One fall evening, about 8 PM, Randy had fallen asleep on the livingroom floor watching television. I said we needed to get him up and get all the boys ready for bed. It was a school night. They needed their sleep, and apparently Randy needed his more than anyone. He was only in first grade. Still a baby! Right, mothers? Well, my husband had a better idea.
"Watch this." he said to the other boys. He got Randy's jacket and lunch box and headed for the livingroom. I couldn't imagine what he was going to do. I stood and watched in utter disbelief as he got my baby up out of a deep sleep and put his coat on him all the while saying things like, "Come on, Randy, you're going to miss the bus. It's time to go to school. Here's your lunch box. Hurry up before you miss the bus."
Poor little Randy must have thought he was dreaming. Having a nightmare would be more accurate! I yelled for him to stop, but he was on a roll! He had him outside, coat on, lunch box in hand, eyes closed, head down, heading down our looooong driveway toward the bus stop!
Ken and the boys were roaring with laughter. "Go get that baby and bring him back into this house right now!" I ordered. "I'll get him in a minute. Let's just see how far he gets." said the sadist!
Under great duress, he finally rescued the pitiful child. But the laughter lingered for some time.
Not everything that happened in that little parsonage chapel was funny, though a great deal of it was. We had left behind a good life, with ample security, and moved our family of six to a small church in Northern Illinois to become first time pastor and family. We left our home church of about 300 in attendance, with great programs and activities for everyone. The first Sunday in our new church we had 13 people in the congregation, and 6 of them were our family members. Ken had been working in a factory, as well as managing a photography studo. Though not wealthy by any long shot, we were making a decent living. Our salary in Rockton was $60 a week from the church and another 30 or 40 from the district. Even in 1973 that was not enough to meet the needs of a family with four growing boys.
The holidays were coming, and we were so broke. In fact, a week or so before Thanksgiving we woke one Monday morning to the emptiest cupboards we had ever had and no money to buy anything to put in them. We literally had one can of green beans in the cupboard and enough cereal for the boys to eat for breakfast knowing there would be nothing for them to eat when they got home.
Before they left for school, we spoke honestly to them about the situation. We told them we had no more food and no money to buy any. But God had sent us to this church to minister for Him. We knew He would not let us down. We stood in a family circle holding hands in our kitchen and prayed, "God, we have no more food and no money to buy any. But we are going to trust you to provide for our needs. Thank you for what you are going to do. Amen." With that, the boys went on to school and we went about our business at home.
Early that afternoon Don and Elaine Turner, pastor and wife from a neighboring church, and dear friends, knocked at our door. We were thrilled to see them and invited them in to visit. Ken and Don sat at the kitchen table, and Elaine and I went into the livigroom to talk. We visited for quite some time before I realized the guys had been going in and out of the house repeatedly. Finally I said to Elaine, "What are those two up to, anyway?" "Let's go see" she replied.
As soon as we entered the kitchen, my attention went immediately to the table where boxes and boxes of food had been piled. And Ken and Don were still carrying in more.
Elaine explained that, for over a month, their church people had been bringing in food to give to us for Thanksgiving. Week after week they brought in non-parishable food items, then added meat and dairy products that last Sunday to be delivered to us that day. The very day we ran out of everything so we and our children could experience God's miraculous provisions for those who dare to put their trust in Him for all their needs.
After our friends left, Ken and I emptied every box and bag of food onto the kitchen table and countertops. We wanted the boys to see clearly what God had done for our family. I wish we had taken a picture of their faces when they came home from school that afternoon and saw all that food in our kitchen! We actually had more food than our cupboards would hold! What a faith lesson for our boys! No matter how old they get, my sons will always remember where their help comes from. Their help --- our help comes from the Lord! Thank God for the faith lessons we all learned in a little parsonage chapel in Rockton, Illinois.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Whose Kids Are These?
Ken and I were both the babies of our families, so neither of us were used to having younger children around. I don't think I had ever changed a diaper before having my own children. I didn't even like to babysit. I would iron all my dad's shirts for a quarter apiece rather than take a babysitting job. So why did God give us four boys to raise? Because He has a tremendous sense of humor!
We didn't start out our married lives as pastor and wife, either. We were only 17 years old when we got married. By the time we were 24 years old we had four sons, Ken, Jr., Rob,Kevin, and Randy. What one of those boys didn't think of, one of the others would. Kenny, the trailblazer, was quietly destructive. Robby saw the potential humor in everything. Kevin was so gullible and in his own little world most of the time. Randy was Dennis the Menace reincarnated. You could see the wheels turning in that little head and know he was thinking, "I wonder what would happen if-----?" He was also very accident prone. I believe we had him taken apart and put back together by age 3.
There was no way to keep things out of Randy's reach. By the age of 2 he had discovered that there were many desirable tidbits to be had in the upper kitchen cupboards, and all one had to do to get to them was to pull the drawers of the bottom cupboard out, climb them like stair steps, then stand on the counter top and open the cupboard doors to reveal all the wonders hidden behind them.
One day I found the drawers pulled out and the cupboard door open, but no Randy or Kevin to be found. I heard a stirring in the bathroom and entered to find two little boys sitting on the floor sharing a bottle of Flintstones Vitamins. At first I panicked, sure they would both be comatose in a very short time. A quick call to the doctor settled my nerves. Since there was no iron in the tablets, there was no real danger in eating the entire bottle at one setting. However, that bathroom was well used the next day by those two little boys
Kevin has always been an entrepreneure, and a pretty creative one, as well. We were pastoring our first church in Rockton, Illinois. Kevin was 6 and Randy was 4. One fine summer day my phone rang. I answered, "Hello, Nazarene parsonage, Rosie speaking." The voice on the other end of the line sounded a bit amused as the lady said, "Mrs. Stirratt, your two younger sons are going door to door in the neighborhood selling old Sunday school papers for ten cents each. I thought you might want to know." Certain she could feel the redness in my face seeping through the phone line, I thanked her kindly, hung up the phone, and went hunting for two little boys.
Kevin and Randy weren't too hard to find. They had had a pretty good day. Used Sunday school papers must have been in high demand in our neighborhood that day. They came running across the yard toward the house faces beaming and waving the leftover papers, obviously anxious to share their little business venture with me.
"Have you boys been selling old Sunday school papers to the neighbors?" I asked. "Yeah! Look at all the money we got!" they replied opening their dirty little hands to reveal the day's earnings. They had over a dollar in dimes from the sale of those old papers. As much as I hated bursting their bubbles, I had to explain that selling the leftover Sunday school papers was just not appropriate. They could give them away, but they just couldn't sell them. And, since they didn't remember exactly which neighbors had purchased papers from them so they couldn't make refunds, they would have to give the money to the Sunday school offering the next Sunday. Two very sad little boys handed over the handful of dimes and the leftover papers, and, with shoulders drooping and heads hanging down, walked slowly to the house.
I have so many memories of that little parsonage chapel. For those of you who are not familiar with the term parsonage chapel, let me explain. A parsonage chapel is a house that has been built as a church on one end and a house on the other. The purpose of these structures is to provide a church building, as well as a home for the pastor until the congregation increases to the point that a separate church can be built and the parsonage chapel can then be converted to a house for the pastor and family to live in. The problem being that there is not enough room for the congregation to ever get large enough in number to be able to afford to build a separate church building. Ours was quite small on both ends, especially for a family of six.
Our livingroom was actually smaller than 9'x12'. I know this because we had to cut a 9'x12' carpet to fit the room. We had 3 kitchen doors. One entered the house from the outside, one led to a very short hallway which led to two bedrooms and a bathroom, and the third door opened directly into the back of the sanctuary of the church. Some ingenious layperson had sometime in the past decided it would be a good thing to cut a very large window in the wall shared by the livingroom and the back wall of the sanctuary so that the livingroom could double as a nursery during church services. I had hung a nice little curtain to cover the window and give us at least a feeling of privacy.
One Sunday afternoon Randy had fallen asleep on the sofa which sat directly under the "nursery" window. It was time for the evening service to begin, and Randy was still sound asleep on the sofa. I had to be up front during the first portion of the service to lead the congregational singing, so I opened the curtains to reveal the "nursery" and instructed Kenny, about 10 or 11 years old at the time, to watch for Randy's head to pop up in that window. When he saw Randy was awake, he was to go in the house quietly and bring him into the church.
We were about half way through the second song when I saw Randy's little head pop up in that window. I gestured to Little Kenny to go get his brother. He quietly left his seat and carefully opened the door leading into the house. I continued to lead the singing. Before the last verse was sung, the door to the sanctuary opened and there stood Kenny motioning for me to come. I continued leading the singing and shaking my head no. I couldn't come. His gestures became more insistant. He really wanted me to come! My head shaking became more insistant. I really couldn't come at the moment. Finally the song ended and Kenny cried from the doorway leading from the church into our kitchen, "Mom, will you please come in here. Randy fell in the toilet!" Five men in the house and someone left the toilet seat up. Go figure!
Whose Image Do You See?
I was simply washing my hands at the bathroom sink thinking about nothing in particular and not expecting anything unusual to happen. I mean, I was just washing my hands. My eyes had been tending to the duty of watching to make sure the washing was thorough, that soap had been well distributed to every digit and between each one. When the job was finally finished, I raised my eyes to gaze quickly into the mirror before vacating the bathroom. I was compleltely shocked at what I saw in that mirror. I found myself unable to move from the spot in which I stood. My eyes were glued to the mirror and the stranger whose reflection stared back at me. She was noone I ever remembered seeing before, although somewhat familiar. She wasn't old, but she was older. There was a hint of tiredness in her eyes, and wrinkles were beginning to appear around her lips and eyes. A bit of extra flesh hung on her neck, as often happens to people in mid-life and beyond. Though she seemed friendly enough, her presense there in my mirror took me so much by surprise, I yelled loudly for my husband to come quickly. He wasn't far away and, without hesitation, ran quickly to my rescue.
"What's the matter? Are you hurt or sick or something? What are you yelling about?"
"Look in the mirror." I ordered. "Who is this strange woman. I don't remember seeing her before. When did this happen? When did I start looking like this?"
That was the beginning of the realization that years were passing quickly and inevitable changes were taking place over which I had no control. Even now, probably ten years later, I find myself peeking into the mirrors in my house looking to see if any part of the young woman who used to reside in this clay vessel we call a body might show her face again. But, all I see is a much older version of her with somewhat deeper wrinkles than the first time we met in the bathroom and even more of that loose flesh the grandkids love to play with when they sit by me in church.
It has occurred to me that along with an older and weaker body I may very well develope an older and weaker mind. Right now it is brimming with fond memories and funny stories of the past. It is full of lessons learned from God's Word, of lessons learned through suffering, pain, and heartache, and through mistakes I wish I hadn't made among the few things I did right.
While I still have a good mind and the ability to communicate some of those things, I have decided that modern technology offers the perfect platform from which I am able to share some of what I have experienced and learned through the 64 years of my life so far. Thus, "Mama Rosie's Blog." So, grab a cup of coffee, or a cup (or glass) of tea, and join me as I share with you.
"What's the matter? Are you hurt or sick or something? What are you yelling about?"
"Look in the mirror." I ordered. "Who is this strange woman. I don't remember seeing her before. When did this happen? When did I start looking like this?"
That was the beginning of the realization that years were passing quickly and inevitable changes were taking place over which I had no control. Even now, probably ten years later, I find myself peeking into the mirrors in my house looking to see if any part of the young woman who used to reside in this clay vessel we call a body might show her face again. But, all I see is a much older version of her with somewhat deeper wrinkles than the first time we met in the bathroom and even more of that loose flesh the grandkids love to play with when they sit by me in church.
It has occurred to me that along with an older and weaker body I may very well develope an older and weaker mind. Right now it is brimming with fond memories and funny stories of the past. It is full of lessons learned from God's Word, of lessons learned through suffering, pain, and heartache, and through mistakes I wish I hadn't made among the few things I did right.
While I still have a good mind and the ability to communicate some of those things, I have decided that modern technology offers the perfect platform from which I am able to share some of what I have experienced and learned through the 64 years of my life so far. Thus, "Mama Rosie's Blog." So, grab a cup of coffee, or a cup (or glass) of tea, and join me as I share with you.
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